Thirty-Three

Finally the wailing stops.
Thank God!
My ears were starting to ring.
Once Clara has left I look at the clock. I still have five more minutes to spare. Can't find anything in my room that can hold my attention. The walls, now that the old man is dead have pictures of naked women. Not all the way naked just showing some nicely shaped boobs. The comic-book type. Those porn girl types.
Wendy stares back at me through the blurry form of a photo on the wall. In the picture she's happy. She's looking at something the camera didn't capture. My eyes are the epitome of admiration. Love perhaps. Again, I don't feel guilty when I look at her. Another proof that, yes, I'm evil. After all when she died... It was at the hands of someone I know. And I was there.
Wendy begged for her life. I watched with a satisfaction that confirmed what I've always known. I'm not good. I am not a good person. Between me and hell there's a very short distance. Between me and The Devil there's a very troubling similarity.
Wendy had to go (her killer convinced me). She simply knew too much (her killer reasoned). The family secret. Her killer’s secret to be precise.
It's a long story but I guess there's some time left. Three and a half minutes. A lot can happen in three minutes. Wendy died in just a minute. The next two and a half? Her killer punctured holes all through her body.
The killer was planning to sink the body in the infamous Inanda dam. Some hundred miles from here. But that mission failed. So the killer had to think on the spot. A shallow grave would do then.
How it all began was quite innocent actually. Wendy developed real feelings for me. Nothing new there. She wanted to be together. I didn't. So she intentionally forgot her birth control and (shocker) she became pregnant with my brat. I told Clara. Asked for advise. She told me to keep it. That we'll find a way. That I'd make a great dad. The whole shebang. I couldn't bring myself to tell my sister I'm never planning to have kids. Ever.
I turned to a good friend of mine for advise; Abortion. Great idea. I called Wendy. Told her the solution.
She refused.
I begged.
She was firm. She was going to force me to be a dad. So, I distanced myself. She started following me. Investigating me.
She learned about Mama. About Clara. About my biological parents. She threatened to alert authorities. I wasn't adopted legally, you see. So, there she was with my balls in her hand. She squeezed. There was no other choice then. She had become too much trouble.
The plan formed.
I called her.
She agreed to meet me at an abandoned warehouse by the freeway. I told her I wanted to fix things between us but because she was a woman in love: the dumbest thing next to a Turkey.
When she arrived, we were waiting. My friend behind the door. Me sitting on an old twenty litre paint container. She saw me and smiled. So wide I could practically count her teeth.
She came in for a hug but before she could reach me, my friend struck her once in the head. She fell at my feet as one does to an idol's. When she regained consciousness, she was confused. Asked what was going on. Why are you doing this Daniel? I love you, baby please. I won't tell anyone. Just let me go. Please. I'll do whatever you want. I'll have the abortion. I'm sorry.
I relented.
Wendy's killer reminded me how we got to this point. It was too late for her. For my brat. A brat I could never love regardless.
My friend squeezed the life out of her with bare hands. She died in fifty-four seconds. Or so we thought. She had just passed out again. I was counting. Watching. Not at all troubled. I held down her feet because she was struggling.
When that didn't help, I took her and ploughed her down, her head to the concrete floor. She died a slow, death. Blood pooled around her. Her breathing deepened. We sat around her. Offering support. No one wants to die alone. I couldn't let her die alone.
I sat by her feet. My friend sat by the head. We smoked weed. Got high. Laughed every time she struggled for breath. Found it fascinating when her brains spilled onto the floor. What a great way to kill someone die. My first kill. Brilliant. A work of extraordinary art. A masterpiece. Took a few pictures with my phone. Something to look at. Even have a video of it. Ten seconds long. My laughter can be heard in the background. Her eyes unfocused.
I wanted to have her. Just one last time. And I did. Slow. Vanilla sex. When done I kissed her bloody lips. Tasted better than I remembered. I held her in my arms while she struggled to stay alive. Told her I was sorry. I meant it. That I loved her which was why she had to go. If only she'd aborted. None of it would've happened. She wouldn't be dead.
It took her an hour to die. Brave chick.
So I lied about it being a minute. See, I just lie sometimes for no real reason. It's like a compulsion.
After she was dead we drilled holes in her torso, chest and legs so that we'd throw her body in the dam and it'd sink. Brilliant plan. Sharp thinking. But my friend received a call. Parents needed to eat lunch. They're the type that's big on family traditions and bonding. Sentimental. Useless. Shit. We had to dig a hole. After we'd wrapped her body with sheets and a robe. We buried her.
And of course I went home, ate my pizza, pretended like nothing had happened. It wasn't that big of a deal anyway. Just another girl dead. People die all the time. People commit murder just as frequently. I got away with it. As I knew I would. We did.
The news covered her death. Someone saw the toe peeking from the shallow grave. Alerted the police. Her face was all over town. All over the news and billboards. Police and her family offered rewards for anyone who had information. No one came through. Of course not. Only two people know. Wendy decided to die. Oh well.
She took the coward way of keeping a secret. She died .
This friend I speak of isn't really a friend. It's...
The phone rings. Clara.
I grumble a hello. I'm more than ten minutes behind schedule. Oh shit. Fuck.